


Healthy Irreverance

by Marguerite



Series: The Triumph of Principles [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-09
Updated: 2009-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite
Summary: 2008"Fortunately, there are still those among us who have a healthy irreverence toward power, even as they seek it."--Weir Reid





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

New York City  
February  
***

Six people walked C.J. from her dressing room to the studio. They wore headphones, waved clipboards, and each seemed intent on talking louder than the others.

"How'd you get the names?"

"Did anyone contact the R.N.C. for a rebuttal? The D.N.C.?"

"Are they white supremacists, too?"

"No, asshole, one of the book's authors is black! But, C.J., what about--"

That did it.

C.J. spun around, hands flailing. "Just stop! Knock it off! I've cleared this with every official up to and including the president of the network, and they've given me the green light. I know how to do things like this - this game was my bread and butter for nine years!"

She succeeded in getting three seconds of stunned silence before the cawing began afresh. Shrugging her shoulders, she took long-legged strides away from her pursuers and breezed into the studio.

"C.J.," began Andrew, one of the directors, but C.J. thrust her hand near his face and waved it.

"No, no, no. And you need to get the Goon Squad out of the hall or someone in the green room will catch on. This thing won't work if it's not a surprise."

Andrew was one of the few staff members who listened to her. C.J. actually liked him. He took a step backward and removed his headphones. "It makes me nervous. It's sort of like a bear trap."

"It's exactly like a bear trap. And I'm the honey," she said, favoring him with a smile that he made an honest effort to return. "Look, I know you're a little strung out about what I'm going to do, but I promise you that I've done my homework - actually, lots of people who are smarter than I am have done their homework and passed notes to me - and that I'm at the absolute top of my game. What you see here tonight isn't just about ratings. It's going to galvanize the country. This fifteen minutes of footage will be played and replayed and discussed until the end of time."

"That's fitting," Andrew said around a grimace.

"But of course." C.J. squeezed Andrew's arm and went over to her desk. She was immediately surrounded by makeup artists and cameramen. "Just make sure you don't let me be shiny. I don't want to be shiny."

"One not-shiny C.J., coming up," said one of the makeup women cheerfully. "You seem a little edgy - is something the matter?"

"Nah. I just knew the guy from an unpleasant exchange at the White House, and that memory is replaying like yesterday's lunch." C.J. knew that palpable tension would be contagious. That would never do. That's why Andrew was sequestered in his corner and why the vultures in the hall needed to be caged up. Get the crew in a lather and the guest will be spooked. And oh, what a guest.

C.J. hated having to read the news, which was particularly bland that evening. But there were twelve minutes to fill before the first commercial, and rushing through the stock market report wouldn't get her to her goal any faster. Besides, her cool, professional, detached reading would lull everyone, including her guest, into the kind of level complacency that would make him putty in her hands.

With every fiber of her being, C.J. wished that the old staff could be in the studio as John VanDyke lumbered into view. Rotund, florid, and clueless, he stopped one of the gaffers and asked if she were C.J. "Craig."

You're mine, C.J. thought. Son of a bitch, you're mine.

"Reverend - over here," she called, waving toward what was obviously the guest chair. She forced herself to get up and shake his hand. Clammy. Of course. "I'm C.J. Cregg, Reverend. You might remember me from the White House."

That jogged his memory. His eyes narrowed into piggy slits below his white eyebrows. "Ah. Yes."

Truly one of Josiah Bartlet's finest moments had been when he'd said to VanDyke, Marsh, and Caldwell - although C.J. had a soft spot in her heart for Caldwell - to get their "fat asses" out of his White House.

The look on Josh's face had been beyond description.

Those, indeed, were the days.

Jed Bartlet wasn't in the studio with her, but C.J. felt his presence as surely as if he'd been hovering behind her chair with his hands on her shoulders. "We'll just get someone to slip that microphone on you, Reverend, and when we get back from commercials and the local news break, I'll introduce you. In the meanwhile, would someone get Reverend VanDyke some water, and maybe a little more powder? He's glowing just a bit."

"That's very kind. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She managed a bright smile. "I think we're about to go."

"Live," called Andrew as if on cue, "in four...three...two..."

"Good evening, and welcome back to the show. My guest this evening is the Reverend John VanDyke, newly-elected Chairman of the Council for American Policy. Thank you for being here tonight, Reverend."

"Thank you, Miss Craig."

C.J. decided to let the "miss" slip. "Cregg, but don't worry, lots of people make that mistake." Yeah, but not on national television as an invited guest, squid-boy.

"I beg your pardon."

You ain't seen nothin' yet, bud.

"Not necessary at all, Reverend. Now, what can you tell me about your organization, the Council for American Policy?"

VanDyke faced the camera with the red light on it - nice, good that you know that much - but made the mistake of "barreling," of staring directly into the diaphragm of the lens. Watching her monitor, C.J. noticed, with amusement, that he looked as if he were on a "wanted" poster.

"We're a think-tank, Miss Cregg, of conservatives in both the Democratic and Republican parties. A non-partisan organization that devotes itself to conservative principles."

"And what, exactly, does your group espouse?"

"Conservative principles."

Could this be any better? No, probably not.

"Are you speaking of fiscal conservatism, social conservatism...?" She leaned forward with her eyebrows raised, taking notes in the margin of her little book.

"Ah. I see." He stopped and took a sip of water. "Our primary concern is a conservative social agenda."

"Could you give an example?"

"An end to the fraudulent use of welfare by women unwilling to earn their livings, and to the needless propagation of indigent children."

"So you support birth control? Contraceptives being covered by health insurance?"

"Uh, well, we think that abstinence is the best...uh, method."

C.J. scribbled Sam's name in the margin and drew a heart around it. "So your organization believes that the best method of population control is to keep poor people celibate?"

I dare you to say no, asshole.

Still staring directly into the lens of the camera, VanDyke wiped his face with a handkerchief. "Well, if people can't afford to have children, then perhaps some reduction in...appetites...could be useful."

She let that one hang in the air for a while. Gave the public a few moments to soak in the incredible stupidity of the remark.

"Going back to - am I quoting you correctly here? 'Fraudulent use of welfare by women unwilling to earn their livings?' Could you clarify that for our viewers?"

"I mean simply that anyone who takes from the system should give back to the system. We say that forty hours a week is what most Americans work, and these women should be no different."

"Goodness knows I work a lot more than forty hours a week - and I'm sure you do, as well."

"Naturally!" VanDyke seemed relieved to be in agreement with C.J. on something.

Therefore, it was time to strike. C.J. kept her smile bright as she looked at VanDyke over the rims of her glasses. "So, of course, the C.A.P. has plans for funding daycare so that the women whose lives are bound up by poverty and poor education will have a chance to redress these problems."

Nothin' but net.

She decided to plunge right back in. "While you're thinking about that, Reverend, perhaps I could ask you about the C.A.P.'s reading program."

VanDyke blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."

Even though she knew this information better than her own phone number, C.J. pretended to consult her notebook. "Sources report that the organization has a reading list, a sort of book club. Could you let us know what sort of books you're reading?"

Shifting in the chair, VanDyke forced a smile. "Well, of course, we start off with readings from Scripture. And we don't meet on government property, so don't even start about church and state issues."

Ooh, almost a fair fight. She put her hand over her heart and opened her eyes wide. "That wasn't at all what I was about to ask, Reverend." Take three beats, she heard Toby say in her mind, then go for the kill-shot. "Is your group familiar with a series of books called "End of Days?"

"We...I mean, I don't know for certain what every man in the Committee for American Policy keeps on his bookshelf..."

Dust bunnies and gum wrappers, C.J. thought, but she said nothing.

"...but I know that a number of Christians have read and learned a great deal from the books. The sixth volume was number one on the Times bestseller list for most of last year."

"Yes, indeed." Andrew was making a "go to commercial" sign but C.J. pretended not to notice. Let the network make its money back in the replay rights. "From what I hear, members of your committee have given a great deal of input to President Schiller on his Middle East policy, as have the books' writers, Tommy Jansen and Gerald Hayward."

"We serve at the pleasure of the President, of course," VanDyke said smoothly, and C.J. had to fight back the urge to retch. "We Christians believe that we must don spiritual armor and offer our full support to the Jewish state. Something that, I must add, many leftist Jewish groups are failing to do."

C.J. got a mental image of the cozy living room of a beautiful old New Hampshire home, where steam was coming out of Toby's ears. And somewhere in Washington, D.C., Josh was doing a spit-take with a mouthful of beer.

"And what is the interest of conservative Christians in a Jewish state? Could it be that you're interested in getting Jews to leave this one?"

"Not just the Jews," VanDyke started, then he stopped himself and just stared into the camera.

The entire crew stopped moving.

"I'm sorry, let me rephrase that."

"Please do," C.J. said, letting iciness creep into her tone at last.

"While we would welcome the realization of the Jewish people that they've been wrong to reject the Messiah-ship of our Lord, Jesus Christ, our interest in the state of Israel is purely altruistic."

"And has nothing to do with the widely-held belief that the existence of Israel is essential for the second coming of Christ?"

"I don't have to answer that question," VanDyke huffed.

"No, Reverend, you do not - although I believe you just did. I won't need your answer. I also won't need the sworn affidavits of two former clerks whose jobs were threatened if they didn't read the books and come to meetings, and I probably won't need the list of names of the prominent Republican and Democratic lawmakers, judges, and other public figures who, interestingly enough, backed the 'Christian Nation' bill that didn't get out of committee and are treating these books as modern-day gospel."

"We believe in the End of Days!" cried VanDyke. "And you, who claim to be a Christian, you should believe, too. But you're too busy fornicating with a Jew!"

"That's it, I'm going to commercial," Andrew declared, and the red light on VanDyke's camera winked off. VanDyke got out of the chair as fast as his corpulent frame would allow, and shook his finger at C.J. "You should be ashamed. I will rebut your villainous statements and make you regret them all."

"Are you threatening me?" C.J. asked, keeping her voice low and controlled.

"You can be sure of that. And you can be sure that my people will come after you, and all your bleeding-heart liberal friends, and make you sorry that you ever dared cross me. Our organization counts as loyal members not only Congressmen and Senators, but also the Vice-President of the United States."

Motherlode on the B-roll. Andrew had left one live camera off to the side. "C.J., Reverend, excuse me, but we're hot," he said, furrowing his brow in mock concern.

"I thought we went to commercial," C.J. replied, trying not to burst out laughing at the way VanDyke's eyes bulged.

"We did, but this is being fed to our affiliates. Of course I'll put out a call that it's not to be used. I'll, uh, take care of that right now." Andrew walked off in the opposite direction of his office, leaving C.J. with her apoplectic guest.

"Bartlet pulled this same stunt," VanDyke muttered.

"That's 'Former President Bartlet,' and, yes, he did." C.J. folded her arms and stepped back to the news desk. "I only steal from the best, Reverend. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for tomorrow's show. Your dresser will walk you back to the green room so you can collect your things."

"You haven't heard the last of this!"

C.J. dropped her gaze to the desktop as she set her glasses down with exaggerated care. "I can only hope not," she said as VanDyke was led away, still waving his arms and talking about retribution.

June came by with C.J.'s purse. "Your cell is going off about every ten seconds," she said, handing the bag to her boss.

"Can't imagine why that's happening," C.J. replied as she reached for the phone.


	2. Chapter 2

Washington, D.C.  
Ten minutes later  
***

"Holy shit, C.J." Sam waved his free hand in the air, beckoning Josh to the extension in the guest bedroom. "It's all over the place. Joey sent e-mail from California. Amy called Josh's cell from Canada. This is huge."

"We got e-mail from Danny Concannon. The Vice-President's trying to deny," Josh put in. He sounded gleeful. "How much you want to bet Schiller isn't taking his call right now?"

"Won't take that bet, Joshua."

Sam could imagine C.J.'s smile just then. Josh, who was stalking around the house with the cordless phone to his ear, was just one big dimple. And when Sam looked up and saw his reflection in the glass door of the bookcase, he found that he was grinning from ear to ear. "Listen, I know you're going to want to talk to Toby. But I wanted you to know that Josh and I are going to get started first thing in the morning, and Matt's been alerted, too, so he'll be mobilizing as many people as possible."

"Thanks, guys. I owe you."

"For what? You gave us a wheelbarrow full of political capital."

C.J.'s throaty laugh was as warm as sunlight. "You guys did the research. No one at the network took me seriously until you got me documents. So, you see, I do owe you."

"Nah." Sam remembered how many times C.J. had bailed him out of trouble – real and imagined - and he closed his eyes for a moment. "This is our way of saying thanks."

"Right," Josh added, sounding a little more speculative. "Anyway, good job, and we'll be in touch."

"You'd better. And give Nina a hug for me, would you?"

"Consider it done," Josh said.

"I think she meant me, Josh."

"Ah, yeah, right, Sam, I'm sorry. Night, C.J."

"Good night, guys."

The two men looked at each other, as close to speechless as they'd ever been.  
Sam could only imagine how many things were going through Josh's mind, but he knew what was in his own. This could change everything. Politics, religion, social justice. Everything would be up for reform, up for the changes that were so desperately needed. With just a few words, the world could change - or not. Something Toby had said to him during more than one late-night writing session.

It was going to be an interesting year.

Sam went into the kitchen, where Nina was sitting at the table with a mug of tea between her hands. "Sorry to interrupt your practicing - we really needed to talk to C.J."

"I can imagine," Nina said. Her head was bowed and her tone was listless. Before Sam could ask any questions, Josh bounded into the room.

"Oh, man, we are going to hang these idiots out to dry. We could see a huge overturn in the midterms, Sam. We could get the House back and keep the Senate by a comfortable margin. Not to mention state races."

"Indeed," Sam said, getting back into the swing of Josh's enthusiasm. "Policy initiatives - women's issues alone could be--"

Josh interrupted, looking into the middle distance as if he couldn't even hear Sam. "It's going to be time to revisit everything. Everything! And all because of this list."

Nina whispered something that made Josh freeze in his tracks but that Sam didn't hear. "What?"

"I said I've read the books. All of them." She looked up at Josh, her expression frozen in a mask of anger. "Am I going to be on someone's list?"

"You've read the books? All of them?" Josh's voice was high.

"Yes. I've read them. I enjoyed them the way I'd enjoy a movie. They're not great literature, but they're inventive and entertaining, and they do have a message to them."

"Do you agree with that message?" Josh demanded as he leaned on the table and met Nina's gaze.

"I'm a Christian."

"You--"

"Josh, stop it!" Sam interjected.

"Let him finish," Nina said, propping her chin on one hand while stirring her tea into a froth with the other. "Let him get it off his chest."

Josh began to sputter half-formed sentences. "Get what...I haven't...you honestly expect..."

"Okay, that's enough." Sam put his hand on Josh's arm and moved him away from the table. "Nina, no one in this room is saying that people can't read whatever the hell they want to read. And no one's putting you on a list. You're not a civil servant. You don't design or implement the laws of the land."

"So only civil servants are going to be prohibited from reading certain works of fiction?"

"That's not what I mean! I mean that basing one's political views on a work of fiction is a pretty slippery slope." Sam paused. "And what is it, exactly, that you think Josh is trying to do?"

"He knows," Nina muttered.

"Actually, I don't," Josh replied in a tight voice. "So why don't you enlighten me?"

Nina took a sip of tea, then put the mug back on the table. "You and Toby have this thing. He does the whole 'I'm a better Jew than you are because I care more about such-and-such' routine, and you fall for it every time. Every time, Josh. You're like Old Faithful, spouting off on some religious tangent whenever Toby does something you perceive as condescending."

Sam thought back on a few things and grimaced.

"So you think I'm only doing this because Toby wrote some essays for the New Yorker on the European immigrant waves at the turn of the 20th century?" Josh shook off Sam's arm and sat down opposite Nina. "You think I only care that these bozos who try to run our country want me gone, or preferably dead and gone, because I need to get even with Toby?"

"Possibly," she said. "And I can see the wheels turning, Josh, so don't try to tell me that your only interest in the C.A.P. is to ask what you can do for your country."

Josh nodded sharply. "And don't try to tell me that your only interest in those books is entertainment. You want to get a preview of Toby and me, roasting in Hell."

"Josh, no!" Nina reached out to him but he pulled away. "Not all Christians are like that! I'm not!"

Sam pressed his lips together and said nothing. Better to let them hash this out between them.

"I read the books, but I didn't drink the Kool Aid," Nina continued. "That said, I don't agree with all of the ideology just because I'm exposed to it - I've seen 'Star Wars' several times, but I don't believe in the Force."

"You didn't think that the series depicts non-Christians in a derogatory fashion? That some people might respond to that with hatred and even violence?"

Nina glared at him. "Can't we trust the average American to read 'End of Days' and think it's interesting without suddenly becoming brainwashed by it? I read 'Huckleberry Finn' but have never used the 'n' word, and I read 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' without becoming obsessed with sex. Should we get rid of books that aren't politically correct? Is that really what you want - censoring books that you find offensive? Josh, you've always been right in front of every movement to keep libraries free and open, to keep controversial books available in schools. The minute you start banning books will be the moment I tell you to leave my house and never set foot in it again."

It was the longest speech Sam had ever heard Nina make. And it was the longest time Sam had ever seen Josh stand in stunned silence.

Then he got the biggest surprise of all.

"You're right," Josh said softly. He got up and wandered over to the window for a moment, the cool blue moonlight washing over his face. "About all of it. I do get juiced up over Toby's 'I'm less Reform than you' attitude, and sometimes I get paranoid as a result. And sometimes I do think that Christians all hate Jews. But then I remember what you said to Edgar Drummond and I know that I'm wrong." Josh had moved behind Nina as he spoke, leaning over and putting his arms around her neck. She leaned her cheek against his forearm and smiled.

"You can be such an advocate, Josh. You can stand up for so much that's good and noble. But sometimes you're just so full of shit that I can't breathe."

"You want us to call this off?" Sam inquired.

"Not at all." Nina sat up straighter and beckoned Sam to join her at the table. "These guys are complete nutcases who need to be removed from public service - and I use the word 'service' loosely- as soon as possible."

"So what the hell...?" Josh frowned.

"Checks and balances. Donna used to be your reality check, but she's gone over to the Dark Side and now I'm the only average person you know."

"You're hardly what I'd call average," Josh protested. "You're about sixty times smarter than most of the people on the Hill."

"Josh, the rag I clean my viola with is...well, you know." She extricated herself from his embrace and stood up. "Anyway. I just wanted you to think before you lumped the whole of Christianity in with these not-so-shining examples. And took my husband with you."

"I think she's saying we need a chaperone," Sam said, chuckling. "So we'll call C.J. in the morning and ask her to talk to someone - maybe Al Caldwell - and get a more moderate opinion." He looked at Nina, saw the sparkle in her eyes and the way she held her head high. Wow. Wow. He completely lost his train of thought.

Josh grinned. "I think you two need the chaperone. Or not. I'm gonna be..." He cocked his head toward the front door. "See you tomorrow."

Sam couldn't remember, hours later, if Josh had locked the door on his way out. But Nina was in his arms, warm and cozy, and he'd be damned if he was going to get up and check.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
February  
***

"Matt, the Reverend Al Caldwell is out here, and he'd like to see you if you have a moment."

This was the last person on earth he expected to see in his office, and he knew he sounded puzzled as he spoke into the intercom. "Send him in," he said, then stood up and straightened his tie.

"Thank you so much for seeing me." Caldwell was older, huskier, and carried himself with the stiffness of increasing age. His handshake was as firm as ever, and his expression as kindly. "I won't be long."

"Please, Reverend, have a seat." Matt waited until Caldwell was seated, then took his place behind the desk. "I'm honored that you came to visit. And, well, a little surprised."

"I've been to see Sam Seaborn, and he said I should come talk to you. If that's all right."

"It's more than all right. What can I do for you?" He smiled with genuine warmth, remembering some of Sam's remarks about Caldwell and some of what Caldwell had been doing since C.J.'s interview had aired.

Investigations had piled up on top of investigations, and Toby wrote that the R.N.C. was spinning like a drunken dreidel. And, in the middle of everything, Reverend Al Caldwell had gone on a series of programs saying that he was shocked and saddened by the real nature of the C.A.P. That he'd been wrong to support them. That it was the duty of Christians everywhere to throw off the shackles of mindless hatred and embrace all people, regardless of what they believed or didn't believe.

Caldwell had been able to calm people's fears even as the fabric of American politics began to be rewoven. Sam had been particularly hopeful, and that optimism always managed to wear off on Matt as well.

"I'll get right to the point, Senator. I spoke with Jed Bartlet last night, at great length, about what you and Sam - and Josh - are trying to accomplish. He told me that it is not your intent to overthrow the government."

"Well, we sort of are the government," Matt said, "but I do understand your concern."

"He also told me that you are a man of high principles, and that he regards you as one of the finest minds of your generation."

That was the highest praise Matt could imagine. He had a hard time catching his breath. "I appreciate that."

"Don't tell me, tell him," Caldwell said, waving his hand in a direction that might or might not have indicated New Hampshire. "I know that you and Sam mean well, but a lot of what Sam says gets run through Josh's filters. Sometimes I don't think he understands how hurtful some of his speeches are. How divisive. Now, I appreciate that you've toned down the rhetoric since C.J.'s...interesting interview with John VanDyke. But I'd like to help you do more."

"To do...what, exactly?" Matt asked, folding his hands on the desk and looking keenly at Caldwell.

"To mend the fences. To help the adjustment of millions of Christian Americans who have always thought, in all honesty and innocence, that their way was the only way to run a nation. To find the genuinely good people who've been disenfranchised and make them understand that they won't be ostracized for expressing what they feel." He paused. "I believe you understand that goal as well as anyone in the Senate."

Taunting and beatings. Torment. The attempted ouster from the Senate, just as agonizing a bullying tactic as anything he'd endured as a teenager or a young man.

"I don't believe in some of the Democratic Party's platforms. But I do believe in you, and in Sam, and - heaven help me - even in Josh. So I'm here to offer my support to the bipartisan effort to help heal the wounds that the C.A.P. caused. I'm at your service."

Every positive word Sam had ever spoken about Caldwell rang in Matt's brain. "I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate that. And how much it means that you came to me. After all, I'm pretty...different."

"Well, son," Caldwell said as he rose to take his leave. "some of my best friends are..."

Matt stared at him. Surely he's not going to say...

"...Methodist."

Any meeting that ended with laughter, Matt reflected as he walked Caldwell to the elevator, was surely the beginning of something extraordinary.


	3. Healthy Irreverance

***  
March  
***

It had been a hell of a day. Meeting after meeting, with a few meetings to break the monotony, and Sam giving a speech about a health care initiative that blew the doors off the Capitol, and then some more meetings. It was all wonderful, when he stopped to think about it, because the spirit of bipartisanship and reform was high. The C.A.P. members were about to lose their seats in Congress, big-time, and rumor had it that Schiller was going to dump the Vice-President in the 2010 elections. Support of Israel was tempered with provisos about rights for all its citizens. Everyone was shutting up about Moral Majority anything and concentrating on the true reasons behind social ills. And right there, right there in the middle of anything, was the man everyone was turning to as the natural leader. Sam Seaborn.

But in spite of the many blessings of the day, Josh had left earlier than normal - when it was still daylight - and gone home, because Amy had said over breakfast that she needed to talk to him about something that affected them both.

He was pretty sure that she was going to have a baby. Made sense - the recent moodiness, the furtive phone calls, the weird reverse-nesting instinct that had her bringing more and more of her personal items to her office. Oh, he was so the man. Not that Amy wasn't the woman, but...

Josh lounged on the sofa, arms spread along the back, and put his feet on the coffee table. "Let me have it."

Amy sat in the leather chair across from him. Her dark eyes flashed. "Naima's husband has figured out where they are. He's trying to file charges of kidnapping against her, and we're not sure where the Canadian government's going to go with it even when we tell them what's really going on. Naima's going to have to get out of the house pretty fast, and she needs help moving and finding a new place."

"Oh, God, Amy, that's horrible. I'm so sorry." Josh leaned forward, reaching for Amy's hands and clasping them between his. "Sam's got some law school buddies at State - I can make some calls tonight."

"Thanks," Amy whispered. "I appreciate that...more than I can tell you." Josh saw tears in her eyes, and her face was deathly pale. "I'm going up there--"

"Yeah, that's what I figured, with all the suitcases." Something unpleasant began to tickle the back of his brain, and he let go of Amy's hands so he could gesture toward the brown leather bags. "That's a...lot of suitcases. How long are you going to be gone?"

Amy blinked back her tears, and something in the way she looked at Josh left him breathless. In a bad way. He heard something about not coming back. About Naima. About Angela. But that wasn't possible.

He hadn't heard her correctly.

Yes, that's it, Josh thought as he continued to stare at Amy with his mouth open. No way did I hear what I think I just heard. No chance that Amy just said she was leaving to live on the run in Canada with Naima and Angela. Leaving me forever.

"Josh?" Amy asked, standing up and walking behind the sofa to hold on to his shoulders. "Are you going to be okay?"

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the hundreds of noises racketing around in his brain. "This morning, when you said you needed to talk...I thought..." He was grateful that she couldn't see his face, and his chest was so tight that he could hardly breathe. "I thought you might be pregnant. I wasn't...I really didn't...expect..."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Josh nodded. "How long has this been going on?" God, what a cliché.

"Since last January."

"January? We'd only been married--"

"I know!" Her hands tightened on his shoulders. It hurt. It felt good. "I'm sorry, Josh, I tried not to act on it. I'd meant to tell you, but then Leo died, and I...I couldn't do that to you."

Josh rubbed his forehead with one hand. "The night Leo died, you said you wanted to tell me something. You said it could keep. This was it, wasn't it?"

He felt Amy rest her cheek on his head, felt her nodding in silence.

"Okay." Josh shifted his weight forward and shrugged away Amy's soothing hands. Sat far enough forward that he wouldn't feel her warm breath, or the tears that slipped from her face into his hair. "You got a lawyer?"

"Everyone I know is a lawyer, Josh. I've filed papers. All you have to do is sign. I don't want anything." She paused. "I don't deserve anything."

Josh wanted to agree with her, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. "How will you get by? You won't be able to work - they're not going to give you a visa, and, even if they did, you'll be on the run."

"We have...ways. We don't need much. I've been saving."

He turned around, kneeling on the sofa, and cupped Amy's face in his hands. The tears in his eyes blurred her edges, making her look so soft. "Will you be safe?"

"I can't believe you're asking that," she whispered, sounding close to tears herself. "I just said I'm leaving you, and you're not hoping I'll get shot by a jealous husband?"

"Ask me again tomorrow," he quipped. Old habit. Jokes to cover up the agony.

Amy had to know that about him. She leaned over, pressing her forehead against his. "I really do love you, Josh."

He could barely force out the words. "I...know that." He grabbed hold of her, pulling her close for a kiss, feeling her soft mouth open for just a second before she broke contact.

Josh licked his lips. Tasted her. They'd made love last night and the image of Amy astride him, her wild hair clinging to her face and neck as she moaned in pleasure, went through him like a jolt of electricity. "Was it a pity fuck?" he asked, knowing she was probably remembering the same thing.

"Josh. No. Never." She looked surprised - although how she'd be surprised by this train of thought seemed inconceivable.

He nodded. "Okay. Okay." Clearing his throat, he got up on shaky legs and stood next to her. They both leaned against the back of the sofa, looking at the door. "When will you be leaving?"

"As soon as Sam gets here."

"You told Sam?"

Josh's indignant cry made Amy shudder. "I just asked him to come over tonight. I didn't want to leave you and have you be all alone."

God. God. "Amy, do you think I'm going to hurt myself?"

She sighed. "The thought had crossed my mind. There's...history."

Sirens. There had been sirens everywhere, and the smell of gunpowder, and the lancing pain. He squinted, then yanked himself away from her. "Don't flatter yourself."

And because Sam's timing had always been just this side of eerie, the intercom buzzed. Amy punched the button and moments later Sam was inside the apartment. His expression went from bemusement to disbelief as he looked from Josh to Amy to the suitcases. "You're leaving," he said in what Josh thought of as his "lawyer's summation" voice.

"I'm going to Canada. To be with Naima." She sounded defiant and sad at the same time, something Josh wasn't used to hearing. But that was about to stop mattering.

"By 'be with,' you mean..." Sam clasped his hands together. "Be with. Oh. I, uh, see." He took a few steps closer to Josh, aligning himself with him. 

"Sam, I'm sorry to put you in the middle of this. I just...I held on for so long, hoping Josh would get over Leo, hoping there'd be a time that's not a crisis..."

"You don't 'get over' Leo," Josh whispered.

"That's not what I mean!" Amy's frustration manifested itself in fists balled up on her hips and the creases in her forehead. "I tried, Josh, I tried to help you--"

It was Sam who cut her off, not Josh, and his tone was dangerously neutral. "I can't fault you for wanting to live your life the way you think is best, Amy. But you have to understand that my first and only concern is for Josh."

She nodded, slowly, and reached for her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder while reaching for the two larger suitcases. Armed now, untouchable, she looked up at Josh with such tenderness that he thought, for an instant, that she might be reconsidering.

"I'm so sorry," she said as she turned toward the door and walked away.

He was wrong.

Sam closed the door and quickly returned to Josh's side. "I don't think she'll stay away," he offered, but Josh shook his head.

"No. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that Amy Gardner's mind, once made up, is unassailable." He swallowed hard at the sight of Sam's compassionate expression. "I thought she was trying to tell me that we'd gotten pregnant. What a joke."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "Do you need a lawyer?"

"I'm a damn lawyer," Josh cried, pointing with both hands at his own chest. "Why don't people remember that?"

"Because, on most days, you don't remember that. Seriously. I can have someone get in touch with you tomorrow. Has Amy filed?"

Josh shrugged. "She said she'd gotten papers. That she doesn't want anything."

"Mmm." Sam stood beside Josh, their shoulders touching just a little. "So. What do we do now?"

"I think your job is to keep me from killing myself." Sam made a horrified choking noise, so Josh forced a smile. "Kidding. Kidding."

"That's completely unfunny."

"I know."

There was silence again. Josh turned to Sam. "I'm hungry."

"God, I was hoping you'd say that." Sam's face lit up. Josh couldn't tell whether Sam actually felt hungry or was just relieved that Josh was. Nonetheless, Josh grinned as he tossed Sam the phone. "What do you want?"

"Anything that goes with beer. And, you know, actual beer."

"Do you have any actual beer?"

Josh walked into the kitchen - noticing that Amy had left dishes in the sink - and opened the refrigerator. "Not as such, no. I mean, there's one bottle, and that's mine, so you're going to need some. And I'll need more later."

"So, reinforcements are in order." Sam pulled out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?" Josh asked, slumping into a chair in the kitchen and looking glumly at the coffee cups that had been a wedding gift. He wondered if he'd have to give them back.

"Matt."

"Sam! No, it's bad enough that you're here - I don't need a damn slumber party!"

"I doubt that any of us will be sleeping tonight...no, Matt, I wasn't talking to you. I'm at Josh's, and, well, there's a thing. So can you bring beer?"

"This is not happening," Josh moaned as he opened the one lonely bottle of Heineken.

"Yeah, and as much really obnoxious food as you can lay your hands on. A burnt offering of meat would probably do for Josh."

Sam's voice dropped low enough for Josh to lose the exact words, but he knew Sam was telling Matt that Amy was gone.

Oh. Amy's gone. Oh.

His stomach knotted up and for one horrible moment he thought he was going to vomit. Or cry. Josh couldn't decide which would be worse. He remained at the table while Sam busied himself with plates and glasses, filling the void with news about the A.S.O.'s recording contract and problems with residuals for the players while Josh drank the beer.

"You don't have to entertain me, Sam," Josh said. He sounded...hollow. Which was no surprise. He twisted his wedding band around his finger and fought back tears. "C.J. called me an idiot, that day."

"I think we all did," Sam said evenly.

"Yeah, but you didn't do it to me in the White House. Which sucked. And then Toby told me I was an idiot, and Leo, and the next morning Abbey called me...all sorts of things. But you know what, Sam? I was really happy. I was."

"I know that."

"Except for the thing with Donna. That wasn't so wonderful. And that happened in the White House, too. You know what?" Josh folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. "I think I should avoid the White House at all costs. That place is dangerous."

"I don't think it's the White House that got you into trouble, there."

Josh took a sip of beer. "Don't stop me. I'm on a roll."

All of a sudden he froze. The bed. He'd have to sleep in the bed. Their bed. The one they'd had sex in less than two days before.

"Got any clean sheets?" Sam asked, and Josh turned to him with his mouth agape.

"How do you do that? Read my mind?"

"Because it's transparent." Sam knocked on Josh's forehead, then leaned over and threw his arms around him. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Sam." Josh disentangled himself, trying to hide the rise in emotions behind a smirking facade. "Did you have an affair with Amy?"

"Josh!" Sam's eyes were enormous.

"Did you ask her to leave me? Did you draw up the divorce papers?" Josh gave Sam a smile. "Then you have nothing to be sorry for."

After a few seconds, Sam seemed to digest what Josh was really saying to him, and he smiled ruefully. "I see Matt's car. I'm gonna go help him with the stuff."

Josh took the last few moments of solitude to pull himself together as much as possible. Amy's gone. She's gone. Okay. I can do this.

I've had worse things happen to me.

And how depressing is that?

Matt came through the door first, carrying takeout bags that did nothing to mask the delicious, forbidden scents within. "All the fried food that I could muster up on such short notice. And Sam's got the beer." He looked at Josh kindly but not pityingly. "I'm sorry," he began, but Sam cut him off as he entered.

"Don't apologize or Josh will start accusing you of, you know, some pretty weird things." They passed out food and put the extra beer in the refrigerators after opening bottles for themselves. "What are we drinking to?"

Josh just stared at him, but Matt smiled and clinked his bottle to Sam's. "Beards."

"That is...not funny," Josh sputtered, even though he started to laugh. He joined in the toast. "You are sick people. My wife just left me for a woman, and you decide to mock me?"

"That's nothing. Wait until you tell your mother," Sam said, picking up some french fries and dipping them into a glob of ketchup.

"Oh, God. My mother. This is gonna suck so completely and thoroughly." Then a horrible thought struck him and he blanched. "Forget my mother - what about Donna?"

"What about Donna?" Sam asked, still munching on french fries as he took another drink.

"She's gonna mock me until, I don't know, forever." His shoulders slumped and he pushed his hamburger to one side. "She's gonna laugh."

Matt set his sandwich down on the plate and looked down at it with unusual interest. "She didn't laugh."

"That's good," Sam said, then paused with his hamburger halfway to his mouth. "I'm sorry, you just said she 'didn't' laugh."

"As in you already told her?" Josh demanded.

"She was sitting right next to me in the office when I got the call. I was supposed to stay late and work on the Hayley stuff, but...well, I had to tell her something, and the truth is always the easiest thing to remember."

Josh was slightly mollified. And hungry. He bit into the charcoal-edged hamburger with a sigh. Donna hadn't laughed. That was something.

"If it makes you feel any better, Josh, I had a guy dump me for a woman, once."

"That sentence," Sam declared, "sounds so bizarre."

"It doesn't make me feel better. Besides," Josh said as he removed the offending tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, and all other vegetation, from his dinner, "I don't think this will go on forever. She'll come back."

Sam and Matt exchanged worried looks. Matt shook his head. "Josh, look, if she'd been planning this for a year..."

"Give me another beer," Josh demanded sourly. Matt handed him another bottle, which Josh opened but then set aside. "I've had women leave me before."

Sam made a noise that sounded like a snort, then opened his eyes wide and spread out his arms.

"I've had women leave me before," Josh repeated. "And the good ones, I've been able to win back."

"With your charm and boyish self-deprecation?" Matt asked.

"Something like that. And please don't mock the afflicted." He was actually enjoying this, in a sick kind of way. Sam and Matt, on his side. "But this thing with Amy - what she wants, I'm literally not equipped to give her. It's not exactly a fair fight."

"And thank you for making my point." Matt took the pickles off of Josh's plate and ate one of them. "I hate to tell you this, Josh, but when it's about the equipment, it's never a fair fight."

"There's nothin' wrong with my equipment," Josh mumbled.

"I wouldn't know," Matt replied primly, and as a result he found himself wearing a piece of lettuce on his shirt.

They finished their meals quickly and took the beer out onto the stoop. Josh plopped down, bone-weary, on the top step, with Matt and Sam flanking him. "So what will you do now?" Sam asked.

"Right now? I don't know. It's too late to buy a bed," Josh said glumly. "I am never sleeping in that bed again."

"Neither is Amy," Sam put in, not at all helpfully, for which Josh punched him in the arm. Sam laughed. His lips were just above the bottle, and it whistled darkly. "Okay, we'll have someone go bed-shopping with you tomorrow. Then what?"

"Lawyer. Calling my mom - unless you'd like to do that for me, Matt?"

"God, no. Not that I don't think your mom's great. I get a kick out of talking to her when she comes up to visit, and there's nothing in the world as great as her noodle kugel. But now she's always looking for a nice Jewish doctor for me. I think she's more worried about my being Methodist than being gay."

Josh thought that his mother was about the coolest little old Jewish lady in the world.

"Seriously. Josh." Sam looked at him with concern radiating from his whole body. "What can we do?"

"I have...no idea. No one's ever divorced me before. I know that's hard to believe. So, apart from the lawyer and the bed, I don't really know what to do. Give me some more work to do, maybe."

"Because it takes your mind off Amy, or because you won't want to go home?"

He didn't know the answer to Matt's question, so he just shrugged. "What difference does it make, if it's successful?"

"What difference will you make," Sam asked gently, "if it doesn't mean anything to you?"

"What makes you think it doesn't?" Josh had worked endless hours after the "End of Days" interview, getting the people who privately agreed with C.J. to go public, making sure no stone was unturned in bringing important, thoughtful people into the group that was struggling to turn America from a secret theocracy into a true democracy.

"Josh, I just don't want you to throw yourself into this to the extent that you wear yourself down. You're no spring chicken anymore." Sam paused. "I need you too much to let you make yourself sick over something you can't control."

There. That was it. No control. He hadn't felt this dizzying a sense of freefall in years. Josh sucked in a breath and nodded.

So this is it, he thought as Matt helped him to his feet and watched, arms folded, as Josh made a nest for himself on the sofa. Amy is gone and I'm still here, and they're still here, and somehow it'll be better in the morning.

"The pain gets better," Sam reminded him, prescient as always.

"I know that," Josh mumbled into the pillow. He let his breathing deepen, waiting until he heard two pairs of footsteps and the click of his front door. Then he turned over on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes, and let the tears fall at last.


	4. Healthy Irreverance

***  
New York City  
April  
***

C.J. paced the square of her kitchen as far as the phone cord would let her. Refrigerator, sink, stove, dishwasher. Tiny table. Dumbwaiter. Cabinets. "Yes, I can do the pre-interview stuff in D.C. tomorrow if Matt can't get up to New York. That's no problem. Just as long as I'm done by noon, because I'm flying to San Francisco tomorrow night and I'll be there for about three weeks."

"Thanks." Josh sounded absent-minded. C.J. could almost picture him standing in his darkened apartment, frowning at nothing the way he did when something was incredibly wrong and he was trying to tamp down the anxiety. 

"Are we going to talk some more, or are you just going to, you know, breathe at me?" C.J. asked, trying to keep the tone playful. "Because if you're just going to breathe at me, then I'm planning to make a tape of it and play it at meetings when I get bored."

"I'm sorry." Josh was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "I signed today."

"Signed...?"

"The divorce papers. It's done."

Shit. Someone should've told her. She hated being this far out of the loop. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say something to make it better."

He sighed. "It was sent to the office. Sam read it, and he said to sign it. I used this pen...and after, I couldn't keep it. I threw it away. I think someone important gave me that pen..."

"Josh," C.J. said soothingly, wishing she could reach the wine rack.

"She kept going back to Canada. How did I not see it coming? How did no one see it coming?"

It was time to come clean. She'd had this eating away at her for more than a year, like acid on the soul. "I saw it coming," she said. Josh didn't answer. "I…actually, I knew it was coming."

"How?" he asked, exhaling.

She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to remember how much she'd wanted to throw Amy out the nearest plate glass window. "She told me," C.J. admitted.

"She told Sam, too. I mean, right before."

"She told me earlier than that. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She told me - well, it was over a year ago."

Silence.

"She'd called me about doing an interview with some people from Amnesty International on Angela's behalf. And somewhere in there, she let it slip."

"You didn't tell me?" Incredulous. Angry.

"She said she was going to tell you that night, or the next day."

"She didn't!" Josh exclaimed.

"I know that! But the day after she and I talked, Leo died. And Amy - and you have to give her credit for this, Josh - didn't think it was a good time, so she stayed with you."

"Yeah, she did me a big favor."

"Josh, listen--"

"And in the next twelve months, did you ever pick up the phone and say, 'By the way, Josh, there's a little problem with Amy that you might want to know about,' or anything that would clue me in that my whole damn life was about to collapse?"

C.J. groaned. "It wasn't my story to tell."

Bad choice.

"So of all the other stories that aren't yours, the ones that net you a couple million dollars a year because you tell them on NBC, this was the one you decided to store away? Knowing that someday I'd have to sit in my apartment and have Amy tell me that she loved someone else, that she was packed, that this was it?"

"I promised--"

"You promised? That's nothing! She promised! SHE promised!" Josh was screaming now, and C.J. could hear the pounding of his fist on the wall. "She promised to love me forever, and look how much good that promise did!"

"I understand, and I know why you're angry at me, and I don't blame you."

"You know what?" Josh asked, breathless. "I don't care about your understanding and I don't give a damn about who you choose to blame."

Now it was C.J.'s turn to lose her breath, and she had to force air into her lungs. "If it was the wrong thing to do, then I'm sorry--"

Josh's words, softly spoken as they were, tore through her like broken glass. "Fuck you, C.J."

And the phone went dead.

"Oh, my God," C.J. gasped. She hit Josh's number on the speed dial. Got his voice mail. "Josh, please...pick up, please," but to no avail. With fingers shaking so hard that she could scarcely touch another key, she called Toby. No answer. That's right, Ellie was in Manchester with her husband and new baby, and they were going out for dinner. She tried Josh again, only this time she listened to a pleasantly modulated mechanical voice saying the phone was temporarily out of service.

No, no, no.

She fumbled with the phone, crying, nearly unable to feel the buttons. Finally she heard Nina's voice, thick with sleep. "C.J.? is that you?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need to talk to Sam. Please."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's...it's Josh."

C.J. heard Nina whisper something, then seconds later Sam was on the line. "What's going on?"

"I need you to go to Josh's and make sure he's all right. The divorce papers came, and he's--"

"C.J., he was over here for dinner. He's a little down, but he's fine."

"Well, he wasn't fine by the time I got through talking to him." She didn't wait for Sam's request for clarification. "I told him something. That I'd known about Amy. Last year, in fact, just before Leo died."

"You knew and you didn't tell him anything?"

She flinched. "I went over this with Josh already. You can beat the shit out of me tomorrow. What you need to do now is get to Josh's place soon as possible. He's done something with the phone and I can't get through, and we fought. Sam, I've only heard him like this once before."

"I'm on my way," Sam said in a frightened whisper. He hung up, and C.J. began to pace around the kitchen again.

Don't hover, Donna had said after that wretched Christmas. It embarrasses him.

Dammit, where the hell was Donna?

No, not her fault. Donna had done the right thing, withdrawing to a discreet distance after Amy's departure.

C.J. wondered if she could have her research department track Amy down and throttle her. No, not her fault, either. She'd suffered enough, was still suffering, on the lam with a woman whose husband wanted to mutilate their daughter. And Amy certainly didn't mean to bring this on Josh; that's why she had stayed so much longer than she'd intended, to keep him from having exactly this breakdown.

Her legs began to tremble as she looked over at the clock. What if Josh had hurt himself? What if he was lying on the floor, blood coming from God knows where? He didn't have a gun, did he? Pills? No, that's not Josh's style, he wouldn't just dope himself into oblivion. He'd do something spectacular. Like running his hand through a window.

C.J. sat in the little chair by the breakfast table. Stop, stop, stop. Don't borrow trouble. It's okay, Sam's on the way. Sam's on the way.

So intent was she on this new mantra that the phone made her jump up, hand over her heart. She grabbed the receiver. "Sam?"

"Yeah. Josh is okay. I can't talk now."

"What happened?"

"Tore the phone out of the wall and threw it out the window. C.J., look, I can't--"

And then she heard it. The terrible, hopeless sound of Josh's broken sobbing.

"Is he hurt?" Stupid question. "I mean--"

"He didn't do anything. Not to himself. I got here in time."

"Sam!"

"It's going to be okay, C.J. I'll take him home with me and tomorrow we'll think of something."

"I'll call Toby again. Have Abbey bring Josh out to the farm."

"That's a good idea." Sam finally didn't sound angry anymore, just tired and apprehensive. "I've got to go now."

C.J. swallowed and nodded, neither of which would help Sam understand that she was saying good night, and thank you, and please take care of Josh and tell him I'm sorry. But as she hung up the phone, her shoulders shaking, she knew that Sam was doing all of those things, and more, because that's who Sam was.

***  
Manchester  
The next afternoon  
***

Toby met Josh at the gate. Shook his hand, because they weren't the sort to embrace, ever, even when something horrible was going on. "Josh, it's good to have you here, although I'm certainly sorry about the circumstances. Jed's been anxious to see you."

"You call him 'Jed' now?" Josh asked, and the lift of his eyebrow reassured Toby that Josh Lyman's spirit was still in his body, after all.

"It took a while," Toby admitted. "But every time I called him 'sir' he gave me a lecture. At first it was on literary allusion in Pre-Raphaelite paintings. But when he started in on the smallest monetary units of Pacific Island nations, I gave it up."

"I hear you." Josh paid the cab driver and shouldered his backpack while Toby grabbed his suitcase and headed away from the house. "Wait, aren't we going inside?"

"They converted the old carriage house into a guest house, with a guest room inside to make it utterly redundant."

"Yeah," Josh smirked. "I heard something about them throwing you out because of the noise."

Toby stopped in his tracks, scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "Who told you?"

"Sam. He got it from Donna, who got it from, of all people, Gary Tennenberg."

"The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?" Toby asked hopefully.

"Seriously. I'm sorry about the...thing. With C.J." Josh nudged Toby's arm as they walked down a gravel path to the guest house. "I should call her. I said some pretty crappy stuff."

"I don't blame you, Josh. I was pretty pissed, myself." Toby had exchanged more than a few words, some quite heated, with C.J. over the propriety of letting Josh continue to believe that his wife was actually in love with him. Only because C.J. was so distraught did Toby end the lecture and suggest that Abbey call Josh early the following morning. "We're having dinner with the Bartlets - they went to the airport with Ellie, Tom, and whatshisname, but they'll be back in a few hours."

"'Whatshisname?' The...baby?" Josh asked.

"Yeah." Toby turned away so Josh couldn't scrutinize his face. He couldn't help thinking it was a pretty damn cute baby, especially when Toby could hand it back to its parents when cute turned into messy. "Micah."

"They named their baby Micah? Seriously? Because, when people bring presents, they can say this is for Micah. Formica."

Toby glared at Josh, who was smirking. Again. No wonder Amy had walked out. No one should have to live with that smirk. "Anyway," he said, helping Josh put his things away in the guest room, "We're having dinner, and then I'm helping with the memoirs over chess and brandy."

"What will I be doing?" Josh asked, both eyebrows now raised.

"Abbey would like to have a talk with you."

Josh bolted toward the window. "The cab hasn't driven away yet, has it?"

Toby watched the slump of Josh's shoulders as he placed his palms on the windowsill. C.J. had sounded nothing short of hysterical when she'd called during the night, painting Josh as a desperate man on the edge of suicide. Sam had been more pragmatic - concerned but not frightened. "But I think a few days away might be good for him," Sam had declared.

So tickets had been reserved and Josh had been summoned in a way that made it clear that he had no choice in the matter. Sam told Toby that Josh seemed to agree with the plan, that he had packed quietly and without argument, and let Sam drive him to the Amtrak station.

And now he was here, and Toby had very little idea what to do for him. What to say to him.

Yes, Andrea had divorced him. But that was over personalities, over work habits, over religion. She hadn't left him because of his gender. And of all the people in the world who were unlikely to take that kind of dismissal well, he couldn't imagine anyone being more freaked out than Josh.

It would've been easier for Toby to deal with the angry Josh who had terrified C.J. so much. Certainly easier to deal with the self-destructive version who'd spent the night haunting Sam and Nina's condo. What left him feeling helpless was how passive Josh was. Too quiet. And if not for the flashes of humor that broke the sullen pallor of Josh's face, Toby would have been terrified. He knew, all too well, that the people who were least vocal were the most likely to die at their own hands.

He hadn't said that to the relieved C.J., nor to Sam. Instead, he'd called Donna and asked her to revisit the Ghost of Christmas Past. What did you see? What made you go to Leo? What did he do between stitching up his hand and coming in on the 26th?

Would you recognize if it were happening again?

Donna had recited the facts in a dull monotone, had given Toby a concise run-down on PTSD symptoms and the phone number of Stanley Keyworth, just in case. But beneath the professional surface Toby could sense her anguish. Her helplessness. Just as he'd felt when he watched Josh relive the shooting while Yo-Yo Ma played. Sonata for Unaccompanied Trauma.

Toby cleared his throat and walked over to Josh, putting a hand on his shoulder - the most contact they'd had in years. "Josh, I can't...begin to imagine what you're going through right now. But if you need--"

"It's okay." Josh didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the pressure of Toby's hand, just kept looking out the window. "It's like I told Sam last night. I've had worse things happen to me."

I need...I need a doctor! I need help!

"I know," Toby whispered, watching the here-and-now Josh, not the one whose pleading, terrified eyes haunted his dreams still, all these years later. "I was there."

"Some days I don't know how I feel about that." Josh finally turned around. He was pale, with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. "Some days I don't know whether to thank God you found me or whether to kick your ass for not letting me die right then and there."

"I had the same feelings on more than one occasion. Especially when you disagreed with me when I was, as always, right."

They shared a rueful laugh, and Josh's expression brightened a little. "I'm supposed to be getting fresh air, and it looks like you're dying for a cigar. Why don't we split the difference and take a walk while you smoke?"

"I think you'd better consider a shower and a change of clothes - dinner's going to be a little early tonight. Usually we just wear whatever, but tonight's a slightly bigger...thing than normal."

"Okay." Josh dug around in his luggage for a suit, which he put on a hanger. It had been neatly packed - probably by Nina - and didn't seem the worse for its travels. "Listen, before the shower and stuff, I should probably take a nap. I, uh, didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

No kidding. Neither did the rest of us, as we plotted out your next week while you weren't paying attention.

"That's good. I'm just going to read for a while. I'll be out there. Just a few steps. At my desk."

"Toby." Josh managed a smile, a small one, that almost reached his eyes. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise."

Toby nodded. "Good, then," was all he said, but he was less anxious. He was even able to concentrate when he went over to his desk and took out a loose-leaf notebook.

As they got ready to go to the main house, though, the anxiety began to resurface. This time it had a different face on it.

"I should tell you something about dinner," Toby mumbled, talking almost directly into his beard.

Josh, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes, looked up at him. "Please tell me that we don't have even more people here tonight."

"No, it's just the four of us. But before we knew you were coming - before we knew about Amy - we'd planned something. I wanted to let it go, but you know Abbey when she gets her teeth into an event." He sighed again. "It's a birthday party."

"For...whom?"

"For me." Spit it out, Toby. "I'm fifty."

"Ah." Josh mouthed the number a few times. "It's gonna happen to all of us."

"Yes, but to me, first. I'm the Lewis and Clark of old age."

Josh frowned, looking down at the floor as he spoke. "I'm sorry I'm putting a wet blanket on your festivities. Babysitting me is probably the last thing you want to do tonight, huh?"

"It's better than listening to the history of the camera obscura," Toby replied, hoping his non-answer would do. "Besides, C.J. had to leave for San Francisco, and I'd have just been here, all alone, no one to drink with." He indicated his desk, barely visible from the guest bedroom. "Glenlivet. One bottle from Nina, and one from Donna."

"Wow. You'd be willing to share?"

"Depends."

"On...what?"

He flashed a brief smile at Josh. "On how well you take your medicine tonight. Be a good boy, promise to apologize to C.J., promise to keep in touch better than you've been doing, and all this could be yours, my son."

"Shut up," Josh whimpered, but he was laughing, and by the time Bartlet welcomed them into the house they were in a surprisingly cheerful frame of mind.

"Joshua," Abbey said as she rushed up to him and stood on tiptoe, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him on both cheeks. "Thanks for coming."

"You didn't leave him any choice," Bartlet said with a smile. "And don't think for a minute that I don't see you taking his pulse while pretending to hold his hand."

"Ignore him," Abbey said breezily. "God knows I do. Now, let me see about feeding you before you keel over. Have you eaten at all in the last day? No, don't answer that - I'll just be horrified by your diet and jealous that you're still so damn skinny."

"I'm fine, ma'am," he replied stoically.

"Not ma'am, please, not that. We've been over this and over this and over this. Donna still practically curtsies when she sees me. I'm done with the intimidating part of my life." With easy grace she put her arm through his and led him to the dining room.

Toby, who followed behind with Bartlet, dreaded the decorations that might be greeting him. To his surprise, the table was unchanged from the other times he'd eaten there, other than the extra place set for Josh. Oh, thank God, he wasn't going to be humiliated.

Far from it - he was ignored as much as anything else. Abbey was particularly attentive to Josh, asking questions about everything but Amy. Bartlet had specific inquiries into pending legislation and the possible aftereffects of C.J.'s "revelation." The only concession to the day, apart from the more formal dinner, came when Henry came out with a Black Forest cake lit by a single candle.

Afterwards, fortified with cake and brandy, they went into the den. Toby performed his nightly task of reading pages of Bartlet's manuscript in between chess moves. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Abbey sit down with Josh on the couch, trying without success to hear what they were saying.

Josh's expression was downcast, and once in a while he stopped to rub his eyes.

Bartlet intercepted Toby's glance. "Forget trying to eavesdrop. My wife has an uncanny knack for being inaudible when stealth is called for. Something that others might benefit from studying."

"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"

"No, no, no." Bartlet moved one of the black pawns exactly where Toby had thought he would. "Thanks for taking Josh in. It's less obvious than if we had him here at the house."

"Josh is a pretty smart guy," Toby said, taking Bartlet's unprotected knight with his bishop. "I think he may suspect our motives."

Chuckling, Bartlet captured Toby's knight and waved it in his face. "You're slowing down a bit, old man."

"Simply becoming more devious in my old age." Abbey was holding Josh's hand and murmuring something to him that made him smile, flashing his dimples at her. Good. Toby moved his queen. Better. "That's checkmate, sir."

Bartlet studied the board over the rims of his glasses. "First-rate, there, Toby. I hope you enjoyed your birthday present from me."

Dammit.

"Don't lie to him, Jed," Abbey scolded. "We do have a present for you. Josh, would you mind reaching up on that shelf and getting--yes, that's the one. Thank you." She came over to Toby and handed the box to him. "We can't even begin to thank you for everything you're doing."

He looked at her, trying to show his feelings with his eyes rather than with his voice. "You didn't need to...do this."

Bartlet stood and put his arm around Toby's shoulders. "Open it."

With trembling fingers, Toby undid the wrapping and found a glass case full of pens.

"I know that you prefer the old-fashioned, Toby, so I took the liberty of having some friends put together this collection."

He didn't know if he could say anything without losing his composure, so he just nodded, running his finger over silver and gold barrels. He managed to smile at Abbey, then he sat down and covered his eyes with one hand for a few moments.

They were thanking him. They'd taken him in when he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. They'd built him, for all practical purposes, a house. They'd fed him and consulted him on everything and made him part of their extraordinary family. And still, they felt the need to thank him.

It was, surprisingly, Josh who got him out of his predicament. "Toby, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night and it was crowded on the train, so maybe..."

Thank God for Josh Lyman, and how many times would he ever get the opportunity to think that?

After good-nights had been exchanged with the Bartlets, Toby and Josh returned to the carriage house in silence, Josh scuffing his way across the gravel path while Toby looked from him up to the stars. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome. I know you'd do the same for me." Josh opened the door – with this much security on the property, a lock would have been superfluous and almost insulting - and immediately went to one of the Glenlivet bottles. He opened it and poured two glasses, one for himself and one for Toby. "Happy birthday," he said.

The scotch felt wonderful, soothing his tight throat and itchy nerves. Toby sat down in the leather desk chair and motioned for Josh to find a seat. They drank the first two glasses in silence, then moved on to their third by toasting C.J. 

"I should call her," Josh slurred.

"Not now." Toby was pleasantly buzzed, but Josh was beginning to look sleepy. "Wait until you're not, you know, plastered."

"'Kay." Josh wasn't usually such an agreeable drunk, but then it wasn't every day that he was left by a wife who decided she didn't need him or any other man.

That had to suck.

To get his mind on other things, Toby asked, "How's the bipartisan commission coming? Are you actually able to accomplish anything, or is everyone too busy complimenting each other on staying out of trouble?"

"No, it's good. it's really good. Sam's amazing." Josh took another sip, then upended the glass to get the last drops out. "He stands up at the table, and everyone in the room takes notes. Two sentences later, they're hooked, and at the end of five minutes he's got them on their feet. He can get more done, can get more people to follow his lead, than anyone I've ever known."

Toby pointed in what he hoped was the direction of the house. "Even him?"

Josh was either considering the question or trying to stay vertical. He paused, furrowing his brow. "Yes. Even him."

That was a lot - if he could believe that Josh was operating on enough brain cells to make that kind of evaluation. Toby opened the second bottle and poured some into both glasses. "Looks like we're going to pick up a lot of seats in the midterms."

That made Josh smile for real, and he chuckled into his glass. "We're going to rule Congress. And even the Republicans we can't beat want to get in on the action to get social programs going, because to turn their backs on 'the people' would be suicide."

"Hmm."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then they looked at one another. Two minds forming the same conclusion. One that sobered them both up.

"Seaborn for America."

They said it together. And again.

"Seaborn for America."

Oh, God, this was going to be so good. Toby scooted his chair closer to the desk and started searching for legal pads. And one of the new pens, a gorgeous Pelikan that he filled reverently with the finest black ink he owned. Josh stood up, wobbling a little, and began to read over his shoulder.

"Yeah, that's good. That's good, too. And...that." He leaned over and pointed to something. "What about health care?"

"I'm getting to that!"

"And we need a strategy to mobilize the South. They're not going to give up the old ways without something really, really good."

"Working on it."

And they did, far into the night, arguing genially and not so genially, eating leftover cake and drinking strong, black coffee. But even caffeine couldn't keep them up forever and eventually Josh staggered to bed while Toby collapsed on the sofa.

***

"Did we," Josh asked blearily the following morning as they nursed hangovers at the kitchen table, "actually form the Committee to Elect Sam Seaborn last night?"

"I'm pretty sure that was a major part of our evening."

"Hmm." Josh took a sip of coffee, then made a face and set it aside. "What, exactly, did we formulate? And how stupid will we feel when we go back over it?"

"Don't know." It hurt to talk. It hurt even more to get up, but Toby meandered to the desk and brought back the yellow pad. All one hundred pages were covered in his handwriting and Josh's sloppy circles and stars. "Here."

They pored over it. One would point to something and the other would nod, and Toby made corrections in the margin with pencil as they went along. An hour later Toby's headache had subsided and Josh looked positively gleeful.

"Know what's amazing?" Josh asked, bouncing a little in his chair.

"That we can spell when we're drunk?"

"Nope." Josh turned his head and flashed a brilliant smile, the one he brought out when he was about to score a major victory. And in spite of the weary lines on his face and the red rims around his eyes, Josh looked like a teenager getting the keys to his first car. "It's that this looks even better when we're sober."

Toby grabbed the phone and pushed some buttons. He asked to speak to Senator Seaborn, and was surprised to hear from Ginger that Sam had gone home for the day. "Is he sick?" Toby asked.

"Not that I know of - he got a call, then he just said he needed to go home and to cancel his day. You have his number, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Ginger." Toby hung up and spent a few moments stroking his beard. 

"What?" Josh asked. He was way, way too wired for the morning after a major drinking binge, Toby thought.

"Sam left for the day. Went home."

"Huh." Josh didn't seem impressed. "Well, call him."

"Okay." Toby dialed Sam's home number and waited until someone picked up. "Hey, Sam, it's me."

"Toby! Is Josh okay?"

"Josh is fine, he's standing right here, and we want to talk to you about something. Something serious. Not dangerous, serious, but...important."

Sam seemed distracted. Toby could imagine the crinkles in his forehead as he spoke. "Serious? Is this a thing? 'Cause there's something going on here..."

Josh grabbed at the phone, but Toby kept it in his firm grasp. "Sam, listen. We think you should run for President. We've got a lot of strategy already mapped out."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"What did he say?" Josh asked in a stage whisper.

It was Toby's turn to look distracted. "He said he thinks that sounds good." Into the phone he said, "Sam? What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Sam, did you hear me when I said you should run for President?"

"Yeah."

Josh shifted his weight from foot to foot, making a "what" gesture with both hands. Toby shrugged and tried again. "Want me to call you back later?"

"Sure." Sam took a deep breath. "Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"Nina just told me...we're pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Toby exclaimed.

Josh's eyebrows went straight up.

"Yeah. We're having a baby in December. I gotta go. And happy belated birthday, Toby."

Sam hung up. Toby hung up. Toby exchanged a stunned glance with Josh.

"Something tells me," Josh said, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling, "that you and I are going to have to handle this on our own."

Shrugging, Toby reached for a fresh legal pad. "You up to it?"

"I got nothing better to do." Josh sat on the edge of the desk and reached for a pencil. "Let's elect a President."


	5. Healthy Irreverance

Los Angeles  
September  
***

"I love you, Donna."

C.J. heard Donna's high laughter over the phone line. "It fits?"

"Oh, it fits. I can't believe you did this." C.J. stood in front of the hotel room mirror, admiring herself in the sparkling golden gown that made her look like a goddess. It clung in the right places, concealed the right things, and made her legs look like they went on forever.

And the label said Gary Tennenberg.

Yes, she was more than able to buy a gown from his outrageously priced boutique on Madison Avenue, but she'd longed for one that was made only for her. One that no other woman at tonight's show could possibly be wearing, yet one that would make their jaws drop.

Wouldn't hurt if Toby liked it, either.

"How does it look?"

"It looks...where was this guy when I was 25?" She sighed. "Things aren't where they were, if you know what I mean."

"He sent some things...to fix that. Look in the little bag. They go on like band-aids."

C.J. rummaged around in the plastic bag and found the adhesive pads. She put the phone between her ear and her shoulder and reached inside the dress, still talking to Donna. "I wasn't sure about the pink lining, but it really does take a few years off my face. Or maybe a few weeks. Whatever. It's great, and you're great, and...why am I going on and on like this?"

"Because you're about to walk the red carpet in front of the Shrine Auditorium and get an Emmy award," Donna said. The matter-of-fact tone didn't hide her excitement. She'd come up to New York the day after the nominations and had spent the next morning shopping with C.J. for press conference and party clothes, as happy as if she were the nominee. From Tavern on the Green she'd pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gary Tennenberg's workroom, and by three in the afternoon C.J. was being measured by the man himself. "I don't take a lot of clients, but I'm always willing to make an exception for La Bella Donna."

Such a long way from the waif who'd appeared on the Bartlet for America doorstep. "I wish you were here," C.J. said softly.

"Got butterflies in your stomach?"

"The butterflies have butterflies. I won't know what to say. What if I make a face when they announce someone else winning?"

"Won't happen. Where's Toby?"

"His plane was delayed, but he called me from the cab and said he should be here any minute. God, how do actors go through this every year?"

"Just relax, have a great time, and know that we'll all be crammed into Josh's apartment because he has the biggest TV. We'll be cheering for you."

"Thanks, Donna. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"We're expecting that. Love you!"

C.J. inspected herself again. Just a little sag of the jaw-line, but her cheekbones were as good as ever and her eyes were clear and bright. She heard the key card in the lock and stood up straight, sucking in an imaginary tummy and trying to look as if she weren't scared to death.

Toby didn't even put down his bag, just strode forward and kissed her. A little rough, a little needy. A little in awe. "My God. You are stunning."

"You like it?"

"Like what?"

She rolled her eyes. "My pantyhose, Toby." When he looked down, puzzled, she gave him a light tap on the head. "The dress. This dress."

"I didn't notice the dress," Toby whispered as he let go of his suitcase. "I got distracted by, you know, what the dress is concealing." He put his hands on her hips and drew her close so that her back was against his chest. One hand splayed across her abdomen and the other drew circles on her bare back.

"Is that an Emmy in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

He groaned into her neck. "We don't have time, do we?"

"Nope. You need to get into your tux and our limo's coming in about fifteen minutes, so time's of the essence."

"Later tonight," Toby assured her as he grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom, "I'm taking that dress off with my teeth, C.J., I swear to God."

"I'm counting on that." Smiling, she put a few touch-up items in her extravagantly expensive gold purse and stood by the window, waiting for Toby.

She owed so much of this evening to her friends. Sure, her program had been a hit, but she knew perfectly well which interview had clinched her nomination. And without Sam's thoroughness, without Josh's wily ability to get people to open up about what they knew...this wouldn't have happened.

A coalition of Republicans and Democrats would never have formed. The rights of the poor, of minorities, of all sorts of disenfranchised people, would have been left alone for fear of political suicide instead of being embraced, as they were right now.

The world can move, or not...

Toby. She could never have done any of this without Toby. From the moment he watched her slosh out of her pool, a chlorinated baptism, he had shaped her, mentored her. Loved her.

And now he was standing at her side, dressed in his custom-made tux, reaching for her hand. He brought it to his lips. "Let's go," he whispered against her knuckles.

They rode to the auditorium in silence, holding hands, watching the palm trees and the cyclists. When the driver stopped, Toby helped C.J. out of the car and immediately the crowd started screaming and cameras clicked away. In spite of Toby's low profile, the couple managed to keep a pretty respectable buzz in the gossip community - to C.J.'s amusement and Toby's hand-wringing dismay.

She was interviewed - local media, someone from Entertainment Tonight, photographers from Vogue, People, and other glossy magazines she never had the inclination to read. And, inevitably, she found herself in front of Joan Rivers.

"She's still alive?" Toby whispered into her ear, and she jabbed him with her purse.

"Keep a low profile - maybe she won't see us."

"Of course she won't see us - she's had so many facelifts that her breasts are covering her eyes."

It was then that they were able to hear the woman's voice, the sickly, quavering, nasal alto. "Over there is Claudia Jean Cregg, the clotheshorse of NBC. Can we get a close on her dress, since I'm sure she won't deign to speak to me?" Rivers waited a moment before continuing. "Well, it's a nice dress, and she's got a decent body for a woman her age. But still - who does she think she's kidding?" With that, she turned away and began to paw some nubile sitcom actress.

C.J. stood stock still, not listening to the question she was being asked. Instead she watched in dumbfounded horror as Toby walked over to Rivers and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Ms. Rivers."

"Hold on!"

"No, I don't think I will."

C.J., who by this time had covered her eyes with her hands, now opened her fingers so she could peek at the P.R. nightmare unfolding right in front of her.

"You've insulted the woman I love," Toby said. "That would be Ms. Cregg, standing over there and looking a hell of a lot better than you ever could have hoped."

This was going out live. People were watching this. Thousands of people. Millions. Watching Toby towering over the old bag and waving his finger in her face.

"For years you've had carte blanche to say whatever meaningless, catty things come into your wizened brain. But I say, right here, right now, no more! No. More."

"I have a right--"

"Yes, you have a right to be stupid. You even have a right to be rude. But I have a right - a responsibility - to call you on it. And since I know you don't have the breeding to apologize, I'm just going to face this camera, over here. Over here, don't worry, it's okay," he said, beckoning to the astonished video operator. "On Ms. Cregg's behalf, I'm donating an amount of money equal to the hand-made Tennenberg gown she's wearing to the charity of your choice, Ms. Rivers. What's it going to be?"

The woman just gaped at him.

"Tell you what. When you find a charity, have your people call my people. That would be President Josiah Bartlet and Dr. Abigail Bartlet. Don't hesitate to let them know where the money will be going."

With that, he stalked over to C.J. and put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the main entrance. "That was my entertainment for the evening. Now let's go pick out a statue for you."

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Speechless.

Josh froze with his hand in the popcorn bowl. Nina leaned forward as much as her increased size would allow, her hands in front of her mouth. Matt, who was sitting next to Donna, squeezed her arm so hard that she would have shrieked in protest had she been focused enough to know it was happening.

Sam sat still, blinking rapidly, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.

Holy hell.

His cell phone rang. "Please, God, don't let it be the Post," he moaned as he flipped the phone open. "Sam Seaborn."

"Did you see that!" It was Abbey, shouting into the phone. "He told her off. On nationwide television!"

"Yes, he certainly did." He put the phone to his shoulder for a moment. "It's Abbey," he said to the others, who ordinarily would've shouted greetings but tonight just waved in the general direction of the phone.

"Jed's about to burst an artery. Is Toby going to be in some sort of trouble?"

"I don't think so. He didn't physically threaten her. I mean, the people at E! aren't going to love him, but they can't do anything about a comment made in a public place. Plus, it's not as if he hadn't been provoked."

"So he's not going to be, you know, arrested or anything."

"No. Although I suspect C.J. may hold him captive, later on."

Abbey breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, then, I'll let you go. Just wanted to make sure we weren't going to have to fly to California and bail him out of jail. Give everyone my love."

"I'll do that." He hung up the phone. "She sends her love."

Silence.

This was going to be an inspiring night.

***  
Los Angeles  
***

"And the Emmy for 'Variety or Interview' goes to..." Brokaw didn't even bother to suppress his smile. "C.J. Cregg, 'Practical Politics,' NBC."

Toby realized that C.J. was just sitting there, smiling politely and applauding. She'd been so nervous that she hadn't heard her name called.

"Who won?" she asked through her teeth.

"That would be...you."

She shifted in her chair as the applause swelled and the theme song from her show began a second time. Toby gave her a little push at the small of the back and she rose, looking dazed, and let the ushers help her up the stairs.

Brokaw handed her the statue and stepped back, applauding. Then the audience got to its feet and Toby couldn't see her again until he rose as well, watching with amazement as C.J. pulled herself up to her full height and motioned that she was ready to begin.

"Thank you - this is an unexpected honor. I really only came tonight to show off my dress. Do you like it?"

The crowd cheered.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
***

The crowd cheered.

Nina wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Damn hormones," she said, but then she saw tears in Donna's eyes as well, and Josh's, although he did his best to hide them. And Sam's, as he leaned over to kiss her.

"She's so beautiful," Josh murmured. "Look at her. How did we not know that until now?"

"The rest of us have always known." Donna blew her nose on the paper napkin that had been around her glass. "Figures that it'd take you longer."

***  
Manchester  
***

They held hands and watched, full of pride, as C.J. held the statue aloft. 

"That's our girl," Bartlet said to his wife, and for once she didn't bother to correct his choice of words, because she was too busy dabbing at her eyes.

***  
Los Angeles  
***

"I don't have a speech prepared. I came with a speechwriter, but unless he's doing something with magic marker on the back of the program, I'm on my own."

She'd never expected this, not even when newspapers across the country said that she was a sure thing. She'd kept her expectations low, and now she was in front of a camera with no idea what to say next.

Finding Toby in the crowd, she smiled at him. "Thank you, members of the Academy, and my peers in the broadcast news industry. I'm honored - and touched. And more than a little scared." Her hands trembled, so she set the statue down on the podium. "It has been an honor and a privilege to be a part of 'Practical Politics.' I'd be remiss if I didn't thank everyone involved in the production - but I'd be more remiss if I tried, because I'd just leave someone out and that would get me into hot water.

"Instead, I'd like to dedicate this to someone who saw potential in a freshly-unemployed P.R. person, who shepherded her through the trying process of becoming the face and voice of a campaign and a Presidency. Who believed." She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Who believed," she said again.

"With love, and respect, and a gratitude that will last forever - this statue belongs to Leo McGarry, and I hope that, wherever he is, he knows how much I owe him. Thank you very much."

She didn't hear the roar of the crowd, but she was aware of Toby's proud gaze. Felt it backstage when he sidled up beside the crowd of photographers, Saw it as he looked at her with such longing that she wanted desperately to bolt, to run away with him and never, ever look back.

But soon there were other, more glamorous people to photograph, and C.J. was taken to a quiet room off to one side of the stage. She sat on the edge of a small, tapestried chair, the statue clutched in her shaking hands.

Toby entered and walked in front of her, then sat on his heels and covered her hands with his. "You were good," he said simply.

"I can think on my feet," she replied, blowing a lock of hair away from her face.

He kept looking at her, the love in his warm, dark eyes making the blood rush to her cheeks. "You can also think off your feet."

A slow, sexy smile worked its way across her face. She'd be missed at the parties, but that didn't matter. Didn't mean anything. All that mattered was Toby.

So she stood up, smoothing the beaded silk of her gown, and held her hand out to him. "I think we left the meter running," she whispered, and they laughed as they made their way through the glittering crowds.

***  
Washington, D.C.  
Georgetown Hospital  
December  
***

Josh shrugged out of his coat as he joined Matt and Donna in the waiting room. "I know I'm late to the party, but why are there protesters outside the hospital?"

"They're expressing displeasure at the manner in which Nina is giving birth." Donna sounded completely, utterly disdainful.

Josh was utterly confused. "There's more than one way? I mean, don't babies pretty much come, standard, from the same place?"

Matt shook his head and chuckled. "There are two factions outside - and they don't like each other very much, either. One group says that Nina, as the wife of an influential politician, should set an example for women everywhere and have her baby at home with a midwife. Another says that she's welcome to have the baby in a hospital, but only if she agrees to do so without pain medication."

"And that's not, you know, incredibly intrusive?" Josh raked his hand through his hair.

"That's pretty much what Nina told them as the nurses put her into the wheelchair. Only she was in the middle of a contraction and she maybe didn't put it quite so nicely." Donna smirked as she moved over to allow Josh enough room on the little couch.

They pretended to work at their laptops, looking up at the clock once in a while and getting nervous every time a doctor or nurse passed by.

Josh got up and started to pace. "Sit down, Josh," Matt and Donna said in chorus, and he took his place sheepishly.

"How long is this likely to take?" he asked, earning glares from the people on either side of him.

Donna somehow managed to roll her eyes without looking away from her laptop. "I'll feed you to the protesters if you don't cut that out. It takes as long as it takes. You'd think this was your baby, the way you're going on."

He'd thought Amy was pregnant. If she had been, it might have been his baby he was waiting for today.

Put those thoughts away, he told himself. This isn't about you. "Is Nina's father here?" he asked instead.

"He's on his way - he was in London on business, so he's probably going to get here too late for the birth, but in plenty of time for the christening." Matt stretched his long legs in front of him and yawned. "We told C.J. and Toby, of course, and Toby told the Bartlets."

"What about Sam's parents?"

Matt shrugged. "His mother wouldn't come unless we could assure her his father wouldn't come. And vice-versa, so it was a stalemate. We're supposed to call when we know something."

Josh looked over Matt's shoulder toward the door. Sam stood in the doorway, wearing the ugliest green scrubs Josh had ever seen.

And the most infatuated smile.

"It's a girl," he whispered.

Donna leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Sam, unmindful of the spatters of blood here and there. She kissed him on the cheek and tousled his hair. "Way to go! How's Nina?"

"She's groggy and tired, but she's fine. The baby weighs seven pounds even, and she's...she's so beautiful." Sam opened his arms and draped them around Josh and Matt. "They're weighing her and stuff, but I wanted to come in and tell you."

 

"When can we see her?" Donna asked.

"They said half an hour or so, as soon as they get Nina in a regular room. I've got to get back there," he added, gesturing vaguely. "Can someone call my parents?"

"I'm on it." Donna waved her cell phone. "I'll have to go outside, though. Someone tell me when we can see Nina and the baby."

"I'll come get you." Josh turned around and hugged Sam around the waist. "Congratulations, Sam."

"Thanks. Wait, you're gonna get...all over you." Sam backed up and pulled the ties at the back of his neck, then balled the scrubs up and looked around. A passing orderly took the bundle, grinning, and tossed it neatly into a hazardous waste container.

"Thank you," Matt called after him. "You go on and get Nina settled, and we'll just wait here until someone tells us it's okay."

"See you in a few minutes." Sam bolted down the hall.

Josh put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Something tells me he's not going to have the candidacy on his mind for a while."

"We'll fill in," Matt declared. "Do you think Donna's going to tell the press, or should someone from Sam's office take care of that?"

"Good question." Josh scowled at nothing in particular. "See, this is why we've got to get more organized in the next month or so. We need faces and voices so you and I can concentrate on platform."

"I agree. But let's not get into that right now." Matt waved at Donna, who was coming back into the waiting area. "Did you call--?"

"C.J., Toby, and a separate call to the Bartlets. Sam's parents, Ginger - who's getting someone from the Press Office to make a statement..."

Josh smiled. That was the Donna he knew. Efficient and quick. No wonder Matt was doing so well.

"...and the personnel director at the A.S.O."

By the time she had finished telling them, over and over, what she'd said to each of the people she'd talked to, a nurse came by and ushered them to a room further down the hall. Matt went in first, with his hand on Donna's elbow, and Josh followed behind.

Nina was propped up in a nest of pillows, her damp hair tied back from her face with a white band. She looked up at her visitors and smiled. "Hey, look what I did," she said, pointing to the pink bundle in her arms.

"I like to think I had a hand in this," Sam protested.

"You had more than a hand in it," was Nina's comeback.

"Glad to know you've kept your sense of humor." Matt leaned over and kissed her, then looked approvingly at the baby. "Very nice. Hey, Donna, think Gary would do a christening gown?"

"Possibly, once he sees how gorgeous she is!" Donna exclaimed as she took a peek over Matt's shoulder. "Josh, have you ever seen such a beautiful baby?"

Josh, who was of the opinion that all babies looked pretty much alike, went through the motions. "She's got, you know, hair and stuff."

"And fingers, and toes, and fingernails, and everything." Nina traced the baby's mouth with one finger. "We're naming her Helen. That was my mother's name." Tears filled Nina's eyes and slipped down her cheeks. "I wish she could be here to see this..."

"You're worn out. We'll come back tomorrow, okay?" Donna, whose eyes were shining with sympathetic tears, embraced Nina and motioned for the men to come with her.

"I'm sorry - I'll be better tomorrow. And Sam, will you tell them?"

"Right." Sam nodded, still looking dazed, and stepped into the hall with his friends.

"Tell us what?" Josh asked, dipping his chin as he examined Sam's face for any sign of trouble.

Sam cleared his throat. "We're going to have the christening on Thursday, if Nina's up to it. Just for family, at St. Stephen's."

"I can help Ginger with the arrangements," Donna volunteered, but Sam cut her off with a smile and a shake of his head.

"I need you to do another job for me. I'd like you to be Helen's godmother."

That started the waterworks for real. Donna hiccupped as she threw her arms around Sam and whispered that she'd be honored.

Patting Donna's back, Sam said that Helen would need a godfather as well. "Matt? Would you be willing?"

Matt glanced from Sam to Josh, then back to Sam. "With pleasure," he said, but his voice sounded questioning.

Abstracted as Sam was, he picked up on the hint. "Josh, you know that there's no one in the world I--"

"I understand, Sam. It's okay." He smiled even though he was more than a little hurt. "Really."

"No, it's not," Sam sighed. "But the religion thing. You wouldn't be comfortable raising a Gentile child, Josh. Besides, Toby would kick your ass if you tried it."

"More than likely. Don't worry, Sam. I got to be your best man. I can settle for second-best man. And you know I won't love Helen any less, right?"

"I know that. Thanks for understanding." Sam inclined his head toward Nina's room. "I don't want to leave her by herself - will you visit in the morning?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Matt put his arm around Donna's shoulder and turned her in the direction of the elevator. Josh followed behind and got into the elevator with them.

"You handled that really well," Donna said after a few quiet moments, and to Josh's surprise she reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you," he said quietly, and for the first time in two years the veil of awkwardness between them began to lift.

At least until he saw Matt looking at him with a combination of skepticism and alarm.

***  
St. Stephen's Church  
***

Helen reacted with remarkable aplomb as she was christened, squirming just a little in Donna's arms while the priest blessed her. Matt, who held Helen's tiny hand, grinned broadly when the baby's eyes focused on him. They returned Helen to her parents at the reception and turned around as Bartlet lifted a glass of champagne.

"We're here to celebrate new life, of course, but there's more than one meaning to that. I'd like to start by recognizing a few new things and the people who brought them about. New life's right here among us, and new beginnings, and even a new direction for our beloved nation. To Josh, Toby, and the bottle of Glenlivet that Donna sent for Toby's birthday, the bottle of Glenlivet that Nina sent for Toby's birthday, and the fact that C.J. was in San Francisco on Toby's birthday, thereby leaving an opportunity for the consumption of Glenlivet and the making of history." He paused while everyone laughed. "It didn't hurt that Sam was a little preoccupied that night, either.

"But I digress. We're here to launch Helen into the world, the face that launched a thousand ships, and the little hand that's pulling on her daddy's tie in such an enchanting fashion." He took the white-clad bundle from her father and held her in his own arms. "What a life you'll have, my beautiful little angel, with your mommy's curls and your daddy's big blue eyes. You'll have their music and words, all the best of art and philosophy, all at your tiny fingertips. Although your daddy may be so busy ridding the house of gentlemen callers that you might not see as much of him as you'd like. But his protective love will be there with you, and his conscience, and your mother's intelligence and unwavering devotion. You'll have Donna and Matt as spiritual guides, and no finer examples are there in the world. With witty, clever Aunt C.J. at your side, you'll never be at a loss for words. Even less so around your Uncle Toby. Although he may teach you some words your parents would just as soon you didn't use."

Toby glowered, but he didn't fool anyone.

"God only knows what Uncle Josh has in store for you. Possibly a city council job instead of a lemonade stand. And don't forget about Abbey and me, the extra set of grandparents who aren't afraid of diapers, fifth grade math homework, first love, or those little rubber bands they put on braces." Jed leaned over and kissed Helen's rosy cheek.

"Welcome to the world, Helen Miranda Seaborn. Welcome to your family - and this family, your extended one - and may you grow up in a house full of love, gentleness, and peace."

As he brought the baby back to Nina, Bartlet paused with his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I just hope that house is the big white one."


End file.
